


Lady Wife

by mrstater



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Fight Sex, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Manipulation, Married Couple, Rough Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lynesse does not behave like a lady, and Jorah attempts to remind her just who is Lord of Bear Island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady Wife

Lynesse pounds her fists against his chest and Jorah stands, letting her, his face reddening, first in shame, then in mounting anger, as she screams at him. She hates it here, she shrieks through tears. Hates the island, hates the hall. The cold makes her miserable, and so does the company—his uncouth aunt and cousins and their brats—and the food sickens her, the same stews and roasted meats day after day, and she has nothing to amuse her and no new clothes. She hates it, and he had no right to bring her here, no right at all.  
  
“I have every right,” Jorah snarls, and he grabs her wrists, holding them against his chest, and mutes her rage with a kiss.   
  
She bites his lip, and he tastes the metallic tang of his own blood as he pushes his tongue into her mouth. Her soft fisted hands struggle in the cage of his long fingers, callused by the sword. He releases her, capturing her about the waist instead—her hips are just wide enough for a man’s hand—and her fingernails scratch his cheek, his neck, his shoulders as they slip inside the open neck of his shirt.   
  
“You spoke the vows,” Jorah mutters against her mouth, grunting as he hoists her up into his arms and she hooks her legs around him, pulling herself against the hardness in his trousers. “By the Seven, I am your lord and husband.”  
  
“And I am your lady and wi— _oof_!”   
  
The wind goes out of her as Jorah drops her unceremoniously onto the bed, then climbs up to straddle her.   
  
“You are my wife, but you act like no lady.”  
  
It’s hardly how he imagined their marriage bed when they plighted their troth before the septon, he still feeling as though he stumbled into a dream, she giddy to be swept off by her champion to a new life. As he kisses her cheek, salt mingles with the taste of blood on his tongue. Drying tears. With a growl at the reminder of her unhappiness—her _misery_ , she said—he hitches her voluminous velvet skirts up to her waist, frees his cock from the straining laces of his breeches, and thrusts into her wetness. She cries out into his mouth, digs her heels into the small of his back.  
  
He pounds her into the mattress, and when next she screams his name, it is not in complaint.

~*~

Afterward, Lynesse brushes his chest with her lips, and Jorah lies with her in his arms, his face still flushed with their passion, as she whispers to him. She doesn’t hate everything here. Not his bed. Nor his company. She doesn’t feel the cold here, and his mouth is sweet. She loves him so, truly she does. It is only so different here, so far from home.   
  
“Lord Stark has called his bannermen to hear our accounts and our petitions,” Jorah says, stroking her hair of silken gold. “You could accompany me. Winterfell is a fine hall, and Lady Catelyn a proper lady. Her feasts could please a Southron palate, and there is music and dancing. She gave birth recently to a new baby daughter. Should that please you, sweetling?”  
  
“Oh!” She sits up in his arms. “It’s exactly what I should wish. Only…” She tucks her chin, catches her swollen red lip between her teeth and peers up at him shyly— _slyly_ —through her lashes. “I haven’t a suitable dress or cloak.”  
  
“Lynesse—”  
  
“I don’t wish to shame my lord and husband before his liege.”  
  
Jorah sighs. “As my lady wishes.”


End file.
